


Black-Hearted

by ferowyn



Series: The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Andromeda/Ted - Freeform, F/M, Genetics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferowyn/pseuds/ferowyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andromeda would do <i>anything</i> to be a typical Black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black-Hearted

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fill for the The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 8 (BellyBats Chaser 2)  
>  **http://www.fanfiction.net/forum/The-Quidditch-League-Fanfiction-Competition/134505/**
> 
> Prompts:  
>  _Write about Andromeda Black._  
>  The clock on the wall seems to be ticking backwards. (1), "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." (6) and "Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die." (10)

## Black-Hearted

Andromeda is a typical Black.

She shares the political sentiments, the priorities, the goals and the attitude.

She wants to be a true Slytherin one day, and become a great and valued member of the British pureblood society.

She wants to fight for the rights of the pureblood families and get rid of all those mud- and half-bloods who do not deserve to be a part of the magical world.

She wants to learn how to use black magic.

She wants to do everything right.

She wants to make her family proud.

Andromeda is a typical Black.

Except that she is not.

 

\---

 

\---

 

Andromeda almost smiles as she watches the bird on her desk chirp and bounce.

“Well done,” Cygnus’ emotionless voice praises her.

The five year old girl lowers her head, the smile now having made its way to her lips. It is a proud smile, one of a quick learner. An overachiever.

Because although she might be very young still she is downright absorbing everything she is being taught about magic and how to use it. And it will not be long until she will be learning the same spells as her one-year-older sister. The interesting spells.

The _black_ spells.

 

\---

 

Druella Black raises her wand.

With an elegance that all those old pureblood families beat into their children she makes it dash through the air, watching the dark purple flash of light buzz towards the house elf with grim anticipation.

Then the elf is hit and falls to the floor, writhing and convulsing in agony.

With clear interest in her dark eyes seven-year-old Andromeda observes, taking in every detail about the way the curse works.

Then Druella interrupts the stream of excruciating magic, nodding towards her eldest daughter.

Bellatrix smiles a sweet little smile and flips her wand, the purple flash whizzing towards the elf again.

Andromeda is standing next to her, waiting impatiently for her turn. It seems to take ages until her sister is told to stop, and even then the younger one is not allowed to start already – but that is okay, for her mother is teaching her the theory now. She listens closely, attentively, and nods firmly when she is asked if she has understood everything.

And, of course, she has.

The girl is a genius. And about to perform her first black spell.

Oh, she can hardly await it!

Then Druella gives her that nod, too, and she feels for the _power_ inside her, like she has been taught, but this time she goes _deeper_ and takes _everything_ and pours every bit of abasement, every ounce of scorn, all her _malice_ into the words as she flips her own wand:

“ _Indolesce!_ ”

And she waits for that rush when the magic leaves her body, waits for the sadistic satisfaction she has seen in her mother and sister’s eyes.

But they do not come.

So, she tries again.

And again.

And again, and again, and again.

In the end it is _her_ who that purple flash is being directed at, but not even that changes anything about her inability to make the elf writhe in agony.

 

\---

 

The three sisters are sitting in the living room, in front of the fireplace. There is a simple black sock awaiting every one of them, while they are waiting for their parents to enter the room. No unpacking of gifts before all family members are present. And their parents like to sleep a little longer than three wired young children. Even if it is Christmas.

Or maybe _because_ it is Christmas.

Cygnus and Druella Black surely know how to torture a pre-school girl.

Nine-year-old Andromeda sighs and tears her eyes away from the tempting socks, instead trying to smoothen down her black silk dress.

Bellatrix is still drawing strands of her dark long hair around her wand, charming them into beautiful, elegant locks instead of the usual untameable mane. Her dress has the colour of blood and matches her robe.

When a lock gets tangled Andromeda reaches out to help her, but the older one slaps her hand away, darting her an angry look.

“ _I_ don’t need your help!” she naps.

Andromeda settles back, closing her eyes and trying to hold the tears back.

“Let’s pretend that we are a normal happy family?” Narcissa asks, huge children’s eyes big and pleading “Please? Just for this one day?” Her tiny fingers reach for the middle sister’s.

Bella snorts. “A happy family? That’s dull. And normal? We’re _better_ than that. Why would we ever want to be normal?”

Andromeda sighs and looks away. She would love to be normal again… a normal child of a dark family. “Why is happy dull?” she inquires, staring into the flames in the fireplace instead of looking at her sister. She thinks that happy would be awesome. Happy would mean that she were still a part of the family. That she were able to do _proper_ magic.

Bellatrix rolls her eyes. “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Happy is dull.” She repeats, busying herself with pulling up her stockings now.

The middle daughter decides not to answer, instead she reaches for a brush and lets it run through Narcissa’s still a little tangled blond locks.

The youngest one – six years old – shakes her head. “We could be happy without you and your moods, Bella,” she murmurs.

The oldest girl raises an eyebrow. “No,” she states “we could be happy without _her_ and her freakishness.”

Andromeda does not even hear her younger sister beginning to argue anymore, she has already left the room.

Why?

What has she done to deserve this? She is doing _everything_ , and still it will never be enough for her family.

 

\---

 

“Black, Andromeda,” Minerva McGonagall calls and with trembling legs the eleven-year-old steps forward and – gracefully – sinks onto the chair, feeling the hat being put onto her head.

Then everything goes dark as the brim covers her eyes.

“ _Oh, who have we got here? A little overachiever. I think I know just the hou-_ ”

 _Not Ravenclaw_ , Andromeda pleads mentally, _Please, Slytherin, not Ravenclaw, I need to go to Slytherin!_

The hat pauses. “ _Not Ravenclaw? It would be a good house for you, you love to learn and-_ ”

_PLEASE!_

“ _Well, you certainly have enough ambition and slyness to become a Slytherin… and you want to be with your family I suppose. You shall be granted your wish then._ SLYTHERIN!”

 

\---

 

Being a Slytherin has not made living with her family easier.

But it has not made it any harder either, like being sorted into Ravenclaw would have, so Andromeda does not complain. It is the best she could have hoped for.  
A Black unable to perform black magic.

She cannot expect much of life, at least not of life with her family.

Still she tries.

The girl studies herself through the seven years at Hogwarts, always being on top of her class. She is brilliant, and knows how to explain even the most difficult theory to her fellow Slytherins.

Never to the Ravenclaws or Gryffindors though, even if one of the latter comes asking.

His name is Edward Tonks – a muggleborn, with a terrible name – and he seems to be desperate. Or stupid. Or so incredibly Gryffindor (which equals dumb but courageous) that it almost hurts.

Andromeda does not help him. Not even if it is the last week before their NEWTs, and he seems to be having some fundamental problems.

In fact, she does not think about him at all.

And, why would she? He is a muggleborn.

 

\---

 

The clock on the wall seems to be ticking backwards.

Andromeda is staring at the young blond – _muggleborn_ – witch behind the reception desk.

“Three hours,” the _Doctor_ had said. “Two hours for the potion to work, and one to analyse the results.”

Andromeda feels as if it has been a week already she has spent waiting. Waiting for the outcome.

She should never have come here, and still – it is the only option she has left if she wants to find out why she is unable to use black magic. Everything else she has already tried, without getting an answer. And even though it had taken her a lot of self-conquest, she has made herself come here. She _really_ wants to know. _Needs_ to know.  
The so-called doctor is another muggle-born, one who has left the wizarding world after his NEWTs and taken a few classes at a muggle university, but returned after getting a fancy title with something called _genetics_ in tow.

Andromeda would not have come here if she were not _really_ desperate.

The assistant - Rose? - smiles at her.

“The Doctor is already working on the results, he will have them ready within the next twenty minutes.”

Time still keeps dragging on, but in the end even those twenty minutes pass and the Doctor steps into the room. He leads Andromeda into his office, offers her tea.

“Actually it’s quite simple,” he says. “However, I will have to explain a few things. Ready?”

Andromeda nods. She is no longer sure she really wants to know, but she has let a muggleborn stick a merlindamn _needle_ into her arm in order to draw some blood. She can also take a little stupid muggle science.

“Well, let’s start then.” He smiles, taking out a piece of paper. “I’ll leave all the details and just tell you about the black- and white-magic-genes. I assume you know nothing about genetics?”

She gives him a shattering look.

“Just like I thought. Now, you see, every human has 46 chromosomes – 44 of them being called autosomes, making up 22 pairs. On those chromosomes there are sections containing the genetic information for a certain characteristic, like eye colour or ear size, called alleles. Now, those two chromosomes making up a pair – they may contain the same information on each allele responsible for eye colour, which is called homozygote, or different ones, like blue and green for your eye colour, which would be called heterozygote. And although the magical world is denying muggle findings like that one, they cannot escape their genes – especially not the ones determining which kind of magic you can use. Clear so far?”

Andromeda nods. She is brilliant, it is easy for her to follow his explanations, even if they are completely news to her. And she knows that he is right. Magical folk may know nothing about genetics, but they still have got the genes.

“Great. Now, most witches and wizards are heterozygotes. They have got one allele enabling them to perform white magic, and another one for the black spells. The inheritance of these genes is codominant – I am not going to explain the details now – which means that a heterozygote which or wizard can use both types of magic. Those few with homozygote characteristics, however, are not able to use the other kind. You, for example, have two alleles telling you that you can perform white magic, but none for black spells.”

For a few minutes Andromeda is stunned. “But… all those light, and dark, and grey spells? How can I perform them? They are not _white_ ,” she finally asks the first question that comes to her mind.

The Doctor smiles. “Ah, but you have already answered your question. They are not _completely_ white, but they are not _completely_ black either. In fact, light; spells are made up mostly of white magic, but also a little black; dark ones the other way round and grey spells consist of each kind of magic equally.”

The young woman nods, a little overwhelmed.

“So, to sum this up – I will never be able to perform black magic, and there is nothing I can do about it?”

“No,” he says and shakes his head, apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

Andromeda actually smiles. Because she knows, he really is. He had been a Ravenclaw, but he is mostly a scientist now. He does not care about white or black magic, about Gryffindor or Slytherin, about good or evil. He just wants to help people, and explain to them what they do not understand.

“Thank you for your help,” she says, honestly, and rises to shake his hand, despite the information she has received being devastating.

“You are welcome,” he answers. “And if you ever happen to have any questions – about polymorphism, for example, or codominance – do not hesitate to come and ask me.”

Andromeda cannot help but laugh.

 

\---

 

Andromeda knows, she cannot tell her family. Telling them that it is her _genes_ that keep her from performing dark magic – it would be like telling her parents that it is _their_ fault. After all, she has inherited those alleles from them.

Also, she does not really want to explain to them that it is a _muggle_ method with which she has found that out.

Or rather partly muggle.

Anyway, it does not matter. They would not believe her. Narcissa would have, maybe, a few months ago… but not since she has fallen for Lucius Malfoy. Andromeda has lost the last of her family members to blackmagical pride and prejudice.

So, she does not tell them.

Instead, she busies herself with trying to accept the fact that she is simply unable to use black magic.

And with working overtime in that small potions store where she is doing her apprenticeship.

And with running from Edward Tonks.

Because, seriously, he is annoying. _Really_ annoying. And why would a Gryffindor be stalking a Slytherin anyway? Well, because he is in love. Clearly.

Which is ridiculous.

Still.

Andromeda likes him.

Somehow.

(Which does not change anything about that annoying part.)

So, she meets with him. It is _not_ a _date_ , obviously. Purebloods do not do dates. Thus there is no reason for him to kiss her.

She lets him do it anyway.

She also lets him hold her hand, and tell her he loves her, and buy her flowers.

It is nice.

She likes it.

And her family does not know.

However, when he gets down onto one knee one day she is taken by surprise, never having expected _that_. And for a tiny little moment she thinks about her family, and what they would say, and how they would hate her even more.

Then she decides that the latter is impossible.

And that she should begin making decisions for herself, not for her family. They would not approve of them anyway.

So she gives the answer she really wants to give.

“Yes.”

 

\---

 

“You will have to keep me away from the magical world,” Andromeda whispers, hiding her face in Ted’s shirt. “Evil is strong in me. As is my education. I may not be able to use black magic, and I may have been cast out of my family, but I still know many ways to hurt others. And I could not fight with the light side. I could not fight _against_ my family.”

Ted smiles a sad smile. “I’m a Gryffindor,” he says. “It will be hard for me to stay out of this war. But for you, I will do it. We can go into hiding, or leave the country. And anyway – we should not even be considering fighting in the first place. This is not our conflict.”

Andromeda sighs. “It is a war about believes and ethnics. This is _everyone’s_ war, even if our parents’ generation is the one who started it.”

"Older men declare war.,” Ted says, voice cold. “But it is youth that must fight and die. Who do you think they will be sending into battle? I bet that your sisters will fight, and their fiancés, but that your parents will stand back and keep their hands clean.”

The woman sighs again and lays her head upon her husband’s shoulder. “Maybe you’re right,” she agrees. “And after all, this discussion is futile. We’re not going to fight in this war anyway.”

“No,” he says, softly. “No. We’re not. _You’re_ not. I would not let you.”

And despite him being a muggleborn, despite the internal war that is still raging in Andromeda – she _loves_ him, but most of her believes have not changed – she cannot help but smile, or stop her heart from racing when she feels his careful hand coming to rest on her slightly swollen stomach.

And she would not want to.

 

\---

 

Nymphadora is beautiful.

She is a half-blood, and a metamorphmagus, and has a terribly muggle surname.

 _Tonks_.

She is _perfect_.

And maybe the last six months have not been enough for Andromeda to come to peace with her DNA, or with her decision to marry a muggleborn, or for the war in the wizarding world to go by, but that is okay.

Because for the first time since that fateful day so many years ago, when she had been unable to perform that _Indolesce_ , she thinks that – maybe – everything will turn out well in the end.

Because she has a family again.

A family who does not care about her genetic makeup.

A family who loves her for who she is, not for what she can do.

And Andromeda knows that she will be happy.

Happy enough.


End file.
